


You're Worth It

by tatterwitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Reader-Insert, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3310511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/tatterwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just something I've been working on for the past few months. It's a drabble-sort of thing, but it's helped me through a lot of stuff. <br/>Dean slowly falls in love with the reader over the years of hunting together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *ahem* I did write this for myself (I know, ew, how arrogant), so there are mentions of physical appearance that are inherently mine; such as brown eyes and dark hair, scars, freckles...  
> The reader is never actually named, though.  
> Um, I hope you guys enjoy.

Dean was falling.

He was falling hard.

God, he'd sworn to himself that he'd never fall for anyone ever again. He'd lost too many people. He wasn't sure if he could take losing another person. He knew it would happen to everyone he loved eventually, that was life.

But, God, when he thought about losing her, his chest felt like it was being cracked wide and someone was squeezing his heart. God, he'd tried so damn hard. But this girl was...she was everything.

They'd first met on a hunt.

She'd been dressed like every other hunter in the world; faded jeans with worn spots, brown boots with tattered laces, a dark t-shirt, checked flannel, and canvas jacket. Her hair had been red then, like mohogany, and pulled up into a ponytail which she'd quickly swirled into a tight bun before the hunt. Her eyes had been dark in the night, almost black.

She was small, just coming to his shoulder; body curved and rounded softly. Dean would've never pinned her as a hunter until she moved. Her movements were fluid and deliberate, as if she thought each one out carefully before executing it. The gun strapped to her thigh had caught him off-guard. A machete was just as at home in her small hands as a shotgun was.

But, as they'd cleaned out that vamp nest, he'd never been more surprised by a hunter in his whole life. What she lacked in size she made up for in quickness and brutality. Her jaw set in determined lines and her eyes hardened. There was nothing soft about her when she hunted. She became a calculating creature that never hesitated and seemed to anticipate moves before they happened.

They'd emerged from the barn into the rising dawn. And Dean had had his breath knocked out of him.

The cresting light turned her hair redder and lit her eyes up to a shining brown. Her lips pursed as she cleaned her blades off on a rag. A few loose strands of hair blew around her ears and cheeks, the longer chunks of her bangs hanging in her eyes charmingly. She was pretty, in a quiet way.

Dean'd felt the first hints then. Of course, despite the pangs, he and Sammy had invited her to join them. After some hesitation, she'd agreed.

For years they'd shared hotel rooms. She'd always insisted on sleeping on the floor or in a chair. Her stubborn streak was a mile wide and no argument with her could be won.

She was smaller and the boys were bigger, she'd say, she would fit more comfortably in the less roomy areas. Of course, that stubborness had also gotten her into a few jams during hunts. She always managed to finagle herself out one way or another, with or without their help. She was tenacious and independent. But also soft-spoken and shy.

One night, during a particularly cold winter, the hotel room they'd booked had lost heat. She'd been curled up on the couch, swaddled in her quilt. Sam had long since fallen asleep, the kid was like a space heater. But Dean had been able to hear her shivering rustling the blanket as her teeth chattered behind her lips. Her breath had stammered quietly as she fought to keep silent. Frustration overtook him and he'd been out of bed and across the room before he'd realized he'd even moved. In one motion, he'd scooped her up, blanket and all, and carried her to his bed.

She'd protested until he got her beneath the covers and tucked against his chest. Her skin had been cold against his as she laid there stiff as a board until he'd wrapped an arm around her and pulled her even closer. After a minute or two, her small body had relaxed against his. Her curves molded against the harder planes and angles of his. Her hands folded shyly against his chest and she'd curled her head beneath his chin. Her breath had been warm through his t-shirt.

Gradually, she'd stopped shivering and sleep overcame her. In the dim light from the window, Dean had studied her sleeping face. She looked so innocent. All of the hard, determined hunter vanished. Her plump pink lips had been parted around sleepy breaths; she panted tiny breaths like a baby animal when she slept. Sometimes her brow would furrow or her eyelids would flutter. Dreams had her twitching slightly, fingers twisting and tiny sounds escaping her lips.

Most of the time, he could tell what she was dreaming about. And most of the time, the sounds and movements she made were of distress or fear. Nightmares. But, that night, Dean let himself soothe her back into peace with hesitant brushes of his hand through her hair. The strands were long, longer than he'd expected. She always kept her hair up during hunts. Her motto being; 'gives the beasties one thing less to grab onto if they wanna fight like wimps'.

The red was fading from her hair. She'd admitted that she'd died it for a hunt a while back. Dean liked the color on her. It highlighted the perpetual flush in her cheeks and the swirling colors of her eyes.

And despite Dean's promises to himself, he'd felt the stirrings strengthen. Long lashes fanned down over her cheeks. Light freckles dotted the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks. She had them everywhere, some barely brown, others dark like flecks of paint against her pale skin. They patterned her skin at random with the pale streaks of old scars. The silver of the chain she wore around her neck glinted.

Too soon, dawn had come. She'd woken slowly for once, instead of snapping into consciousness like she usually did. First her breaths had quickened and her fingers curled into the material of his shirt. She'd rubbed her cheek against his chest like a cat and sighed sweetly. Her body stretched along his. Her lashes fluttered before cracking open and batting a few times. She'd raised a hand and pawed at them while yawning. Even white teeth flashed and her tongue peeked out a little.

She'd stiffened when she'd realized where she was, eyes suddenly shooting up to his face. And as he watched, her cheeks had flooded with pink, nearly making her freckles disappear. She'd sucked one lip between her teeth and stammered out something akin to an apology for intruding on his bed before she stumbled into the bathroom.

Truth be told, Dean never felt more at ease than when he was with her. Even with Sammy, he kept some of his walls up. But with her, he'd come to realize that what he said and did around her was kept in utter confidence. He wasn't really big on talking, never had been, but he liked just being able to not have to hide his emotions around her. She never judged.

Of course, Dean had realized that she wasn't one for sharing her warm-and-not-so-fuzzies, either. No, she was quiet. Always offering support and a kind word. But she never, ever mentioned anything besides those, quips, and easy conversation.

The most Dean had ever gotten out of her was when she'd gotten banged up bad in a hunt and drunk herself into stupor to kill the pain. She'd glanced up at him with those big doe eyes, one hand clutching at his hand as blood stained the bandages. She'd been so afraid that she was going to die. That was her biggest fear, she said. Dying. Leaving everything behind without a clue as to what awaited her.

She was afraid, stammering out names seemingly at random. When he'd asked who they were, her eyes had become haunted and wet before her jaw clenched. ' _People I was too weak to save_ '.

The words had chilled him to the bone. She was the farthest thing from weak he'd ever seen.

God, he'd seen her fight off a werewolf with a broken arm cradled to her chest. She'd been there for both him and Sam through everything. She'd been beaten, bruised, cut, battered, scarred...And had endured it all.

Sam'd dropped her during Dean's time in hell, but even then, she'd stuck at Bobby's side and tried to keep tabs on his brother. She'd been among the first Dean had opened up to about his time in hell. She'd sat there silently, listening to the ugly words of his deeds pouring from his lips without comment.

Even Sam had been a little scared of him afterward, but her...

She'd just leaned over and taken his hands in hers. The skin there was roughened from years of hunting, but still soft compared to his. Her fingers were short and she wore a few rings of iron and silver. They were dwarfed by his in comparison. She's just sat there, rubbing circles into his hands as she listened. And when he'd finished, unable to go on, she'd tentatively reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Dean had stiffened initially, memories painful at the fore. But, after a moment, he'd given in and buried his face in her hair. His arms looped around her waist as he'd crushed her against his chest and just breathed. She hadn't let go until after he did, reaching up a hand to brush her fingertips over his cheek soothingly. He'd leaned into the touch, starved for it.

So hearing her call herself weak was something that had cracked his heart. And then she'd muttered more; calling herself stupid and virtually worthless, not worthy of anything, that she didn't know why he and Sam even kept her around.

Dean had almost broke right then. She couldn't even see herself the way he did.

It got worse for her after that. They'd hit a bad spot.

Shit went down, Sam went to hell, Dean tried to make good on his promise with Lisa, and she...Well, she'd just up and vanished.

Until almost a year later when she and Sam had shown up on his doorstep. She'd looked real bad. Her hair was dark and there were smudges beneath her eyes, eyes that seemed dull and lusterless. Not bright and shining like they'd been before.

She didn't make eye contact with him and never spoke beyond necessity. She never ate much, not like she'd used to. Instead, she'd pick at any food set before her until she was shaking and had to excuse herself.

Dean knew something was horribly wrong with her. But no matter how hard he tried to talk with her, she remained silent. Once, in a bout of frustration, Dean had even shouted at her, raising his hand to rake through his hair in irritation.

And she'd flinched.

She'd jerked and bowed her head, eyes squeezing closed as her body locked down.

Dean realized then that this was something that not even he could fix. And it broke his heart.

Then, he'd been spat into Purgatory. Dean had done everything in his power to come back in one piece with his comrades. But he'd only half-succeeded. And when he'd returned, he'd found out that Sam had stopped hunting and left her alone...again.

It'd taken Dean months to finally track her down.

She'd been in even worse shape. Her curves had become hidden beneath her clothes. The circles beneath her eyes were dark and her eyes had a painful nowhere look about them that he knew too well. He saw the same look in his when he looked into the mirror. But she'd come with him, back to the bunker they'd now called home.

It was a week later when he'd walked in on her in her room and caught her doing the unspeakable.

She was sat on the edge of her bed, blade between her fingertips as she traced the metal over her thighs. Blood beaded, thick and red. Her body was shaking, hair hanging around her face like a shroud.

She'd looked up at his arrival with a look of utter horror. The blade had fell from her fingers as her lower lip trembled. Dean had run and gotten the first aide kit, then. He'd bandaged her up and finally asked, in a voice that cracked, _why_.

Her face had raised and for the first time in years, she'd met his gaze. What she'd said had stuck with him.

Worthless. Useless. She hated herself for not being strong enough to save him and Sam and Bobby. She hated that she had to resort to pain to keep herself from falling into more drastic measures. She didn't eat because she didn't deserve it. _Worthless_.

Those brown eyes glimmered as tears streaked down her cheeks. Her hands shook and trembled as her chest heaved. And then she'd _apologized_. Apologized for laying all of this on him.

Dean's throat had seized up and it had been all he could do not to let her see him cry.

Goddammit, she was one of the best things to ever happen to him. And he'd gone and ruined her just by being around her.

She was beautiful and strong, he murmured to her that she didn't have to be strong all the time. And she'd looked up at him with those big, red-rimmed eyes as she sobbed, _'I don't know how to be anything else, Dean_ '.

It'd taken months more before she started eating right again. Dean cooked especially for her whenever the chance arose. He'd even save food from his plate and push it onto her's if she wasn't looking.

Slowly, her curves came back. She still had smudges beneath her eyes, but they were faded. Her cheeks pinked more frequently.

One night, Sam had brought a few DVDs back from the grocery store. The three of them had sprawled out on the couch in the living room. She'd curled into the corner, making herself as small as possible before Dean reached over and drew her into his side.

God, she'd felt so damned good there, too. Warm and soft and after a minute, she'd relaxed and tentatively laid her head on his shoulder. He was abruptly thrown back to that night in the hotel room with her curled against his chest. How sweet and innocent she'd looked asleep.

And, God, how his heart had ached.

Like she sensed his emotions, she'd glanced up, brows furrowing. One of her hands slowly rose and she laid it over his on his lap. Dean swallowed thickly and flipped his palm so that he could twine his fingers with her's.

Sometime through the first movie, she'd laughed at one of the jokes. The sound was small and breathy, but, it had been a laugh nonetheless. Dean closed his eyes at the sound. It'd been too long. She'd used to laugh and smile more frequently than breathing. It'd been so long since he'd her so much as giggle. The sound was from heaven itself.

Into the third movie, her hand went limp in his. Her head lolled against his shoulder and dropped onto his chest. Locks of hair fell over her cheek and stuck to her lips.

And Dean knew it was selfish, but he didn't want to move her to her bed.

She looked so innocent, relaxed, at peace in her sleep. He didn't even care when his arm fell asleep and the movie turned off. Sam got up and left with a brow-raise at the two of them. Dean shot him a ' _shut-up_ ' look before carefully stretching out along the couch with her tucked to his chest.

And he'd be damned if that hadn't been one of the best night's sleep he'd ever had. It'd been so good just to watch her sleep. Her little pants of breath easing him until he felt every last bit of tension leave his muscles.

When he'd woken the next morning, she was still there, draped over his chest. Her small hands curled in the front of his t-shirt like he was the only thing anchoring her. Her hair curled at the ends and one of her cheeks was pinked from lying against his chest. There was a thin blanket tossed over the both of them. Sam must've come back through at some point during the night and left it.

Reluctantly, Dean had nudged her shoulder and murmured her name. Her lashes had flipped open as her body tensed. Her eyes quickly softened when she realized that there was no danger, only him. Then she'd seemed to realize exactly where she was. Her cheeks flushed prettily and she'd blinked rapidly, stammering out an apology before fairly scampering out the door.

Months passed and her birthday rolled around.

Dean had warred over whether or not to buy her something. He wanted to, really. But she never hinted or mentioned anything like that. In fact, she'd pretty adamantly said that she didn't need gifts for any holiday. But he wanted to get her something. She deserved nice things and he wanted to be the one to give them to her.

So he'd visited every shop and boutique around the state trying to find the right presents for her. She'd given him a basket of stuff for him and baby for his birthday. And she'd cooked the whole day and baked him an apple pie. It'd all been a surprise since they'd returned from a hunt the day before. He'd been expecting nothing, really. They never made a big deal over that sort of stuff. But she'd woken up extra early just to surprise him.

Dean spent the night before her birthday struggling with news paper and scotch tape.

He'd noticed that she wore a tattered and worn sweatshirt around the bunker during the winter. In one of the specialty shops, he'd spotted a long, silken kimono-type robe. The material was soft and slippery and shone in the light. It was a pale blue, one of her favorite colors, he knew. After that purchase, he'd spent hours trying to figure out what other things she might like. He'd picked up a new pocket knife, a candle that smelled like pine needles, and a bar of her favorite chocolate. She liked the stuff so dark it was bitter.

He'd snuck it all into his room and wrapped it in the news paper. He didn't sleep well that night, almost too nervous to see if she'd like everything.

Early the next morning, he'd knocked on her bedroom door.

She'd answered in a sleep-rich voice before cracking the door open. Her hair was flipped to one side and mussed. Her lips were plump and reddened. She slept in one of his old t-shirts, the collar cut out so it perpetually slipped off one shoulder. The silver chain that held her seeing stone shone against her collar bone.

Dean had been speechless for a minute.

For all he could think of was how much she looked like she'd just come from his bed.

With a swallow, he'd brought the poorly-wrapped gifts from behind his back and presented them with a crooked smile. One corner of her lips had tipped up and she'd asked him to come in so she could open them in front of him.

They'd settled in her bed, with her drawing up the quilts around her waist as she shoved her hair out of her face. Her fingers ripped through the paper of the smaller gifts first. She cooed over each one, gratefully setting it on her nightstand. When the news paper fell away from the robe, she pressed her fingertips to her lips and looked up quickly. Her eyes glittered as she lovingly stroked her fingers over the silky material. She slipped it over her shoulders. And damn if the color didn't set off the flush of her cheeks and the red of her lips.

Then, she'd gone up on her knees and thrown her arms around his neck. Her lips pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek before she pulled away and snuggled into the robe. Seeing her sit there, on the edge of the bed, wrapped in his shirt and his gift with her hair all mussed and the curves of her legs exposed, Dean felt want punch low and hard.

Months passed.

On hunts, she still dressed conservatively; flannels and jeans and boots or a business suit if it so called for it. Her hair was always up in a bun or braid.

But when they were at the bunker, she'd begun dressing differently. More...feminine.

The clothes had touches of lace, lower necklines, sometimes she even wore a long skirt or a dress. Her hair hung free and loose around her shoulders.

Dean would never forget the sight of her in his by-far favorite outfit.

One summer day, she'd traipsed out of her room in a dusky pink sun dress with lace around the hem. There'd been crystal buttons down the front of her chest and the straps left her arms bare. Her hair had been curled wildly and she'd been wearing a little bit of lipstick. In bare feet, she'd moved around the bunker. Legs bare, arms bare, all that smooth skin on display. Freckles speckled across her shoulders and arms from the sun.

All he could do was think about how much he wanted to kiss her silly and maybe see what she was wearing beneath the skirt of the dress.

She'd always worn contact lenses during hunts, glasses being easier to break or get knocked off. But sometimes, around the bunker, she'd wear the little black-frames shaped like the old cat's-eye type. They emphasized her big brown eyes almost ridiculously. She looked adorably sexy with them on.

She still came to him when she had nightmares or when things got really bad.

And Dean did the same.

Sometimes they fell asleep in each other's beds, limbs tangled and breaths mingling. Nothing ever happened, though. Dean didn't want to ruin what they had. He didn't want to ruin her.

No matter how much he wanted her, he always kept it all locked tight inside.

But, God, he wanted her.

In every way. It wasn't just sex. No.

He wanted to sleep with her tucked into his side every night.

He wanted to walk with his hand shoved into her back pocket when they did runs into town.

He wanted to run his fingers through her hair as she laid across his lap as they watched movies.

He wanted to kiss those pretty lips and learn how she liked to be touched.

He wanted to learn her body in every way.

He wanted to feed her from his hand every morning, noon, and night with food he'd made.

He wanted her to be at his side always; feeling safe and loved.

Loved.

There it was.

What Dean had promised himself he'd never, ever do again.

But he had fallen. He'd fallen hard for her.

He only hoped that she harbored the same feelings for him. But he'd understand if she didn't. He wasn't the greatest catch, he was aware of that. He was messed up, supremely flawed. The things that had broken him inside...They'd never healed right.

But, God, he couldn't stop himself from hoping...Praying that she might just love him back.

Sometimes, when she was doing chores around the bunker, she'd slip her iPod into her pocket and snake little earbuds up to her ears. She'd get the music so loud that it would have been easy to sneak up on her and startle her...Something she was quite fond of doing to Sam. She'd get lost in the music, cleaning with a rag and swirling around in spins. Or when she was cooking and let herself dance from the counter to the table to the cupboards.

Once, Dean had just stood in the door of the laundry room silently while she switched out loads and folded clothes. Her hips swayed from side to side as she hummed, a little off-key, but sweet nonetheless. And then she'd started to sing softly, voice adorably pitchy. Her long hair tickled her lower back as she tipped her head. Dean just stood there, a dopey smile on his face as he watched and listened. It was only when she moved to turn around that he scrambled away from the door.

Sometimes, she'd draw little pictures across the notes they left over the library tables. Little flowers, animals, eyes, intricate patterns and designs, clouds, stars. When he'd complimented her on them, she'd blushed and shrugged, muttering something about how she liked to draw.

Then, she'd pushed back from the table and vanished into her room. He'd been worried that he'd said the wrong thing when she reappeared. A thick pad of paper was clutched between her hands against her chest. She'd held it out to Dean, looking anywhere but his eyes.

Dean had gently flipped through each page; the lines of charcoal and smudges of lead creating breathtaking images on the fine paper. There were sketches of the creatures they'd hunted, of eyes and lips, of flowers and trees, of graveyards and clouds, and then his hands had stuck on one page.

It was a profile, the angular cheekbones and slightly bent nose, light brows and bright eyes, plump lips and scruff was immediately recognizable. It was like looking in a mirror.

Dean swallowed and flicked a glance up at her. She was looking everywhere but at him, fingers nervously picking at the edges of the book she was studying. The next page held a sketch of him too. And the next. He was bent, hands cleaning his gun, smiling crookedly in another, one had him shirtless, stitches black lines across his chest. The last page displayed him, laying in bed with lips parted and hands curled beneath his pillow.

The work, the love she put into it was obvious. It was there in the careful shading and perfect lines.

Slowly, Dean closed the book and traced his hand over the worn cover. He slid it across the table and told her just how amazing they all were. She'd smiled a little shakily and thanked him.

Then, she'd scooped up her research and scampered down the hall. He heard her door close with a click. He'd wondered if he'd said the wrong thing again.

It was on a hunt that Dean's worst fears became reality.

They'd been hunting a werewolf, not realizing that it'd actually been three. She'd gotten distracted during the fight by one and then another had shown up out of nowhere.

It'd clawed her real bad. Blood had stained the front of her shirt in an ever-widening circle that scared the absolute shit out of Dean. She'd been unable to take her hands away from the wounds for very long.

Dean had gotten her into the back of the Impala and order Sam to drive as fast as possible to the nearest hospital. Whiskey and dental floss wasn't going to save her. She'd passed out half-way there, skin deathly pale and lips no longer pink. Her pulse had been eerily thready beneath his fingertips.

She'd spent so long in the operating room.

Dean had paced the damn hallway like a madman as Sam muttered reassurances weakly. And when they'd wheeled her into a room, Dean had refused to leave her side. He'd slept there beside her bed all night in the hard plastic chair.

She'd woken up in the middle of the night. Her eyes flipped wide and her breaths had begun to heave with the beginnings of panic. Dean flipped the light on and took her hand, soothing her with whatever words he could think of until she calmed.

It took three days before the nurses let her go. She hunched over slightly whenever she moved. Her hands laid flat over the thick bandages around her middle if she moved wrong. She complained a fair bit, grumbles making Dean smile.

Soon, she'd threatened to take the stitches out herself. Dean had refused to let her do that and instead took her back to the hospital to have them removed. She'd groused at that.

When the doc had begun the removal, she'd reached over and took his hand. Her eyes were wide and from the way she shook, he could tell she wasn't exactly all for the medical scene. He'd squeezed her hand and smoothed his thumb over the back. The tiny touch had soothed her and she'd given him a shaky smile.

Weeks later, it'd happened.

They'd been cleaning up after dinner in the kitchen when a water-fight had broken out. He loved the sound of her laughter, the peals loud and unabashed as she struggled to fend off his wet hands. Her eyes shone and in that moment, she was so breathtakingly beautiful that all he could think about was kissing her.

Before he'd even realized, he'd ducked his head and then his lips were brushing over her's.

They'd been so soft and warm and tasted faintly of vanilla. When he'd realized what he'd just done, he'd pulled back, apology forming on his lips.

She leaned after him slightly, lips parted the tiniest bit and cheeks flushed. Her eyes had been closed but fluttered open. She breathed his name, so quietly, a look of shy wonder on her face. She looked so goddamn beautiful...

He'd kissed her again.

This time, she was ready. Her damp hands moved up over his chest before playing with the short hairs on the back of his head. What she obviously lacked in experience she made up for with eagerness.

But he'd pulled back after a few moments, not wanting to push her too far. His hands had left wet prints over her hips. The sight of them left him heavy with want. Her lashes lifted and her eyes were darkened as her pupils dilated.

So shyly, her fingers carded through his hair and gently pressed his head back down. This time, she initiated the kiss. Her lips brushed over his so sweetly. She let out the tiniest sound of surprise when Dean's mind fogged and his tongue traced over her lower lip. The noise allowed him entrance and he couldn't help but lick his way into her mouth. She gasped, a hot, wild sound that had Dean's skin crawling with the need to touch her. Her nails teased at his scalp and neck. She leaned into him, pressing her body against his with a wanton looseness that surprised him.

In their past conversations, she'd admitted to him that she'd never had any sort of relationship; sexual or otherwise. The idea of commitment and the magnitude of trust for something like that scared her. The most she'd ever received was a kiss on the cheek from a boy in school. There'd only been a few guys that had tried to approach her, she'd said.

Dean had found that hard to believe. She was beautiful and smart, sweet and one hell of a hunter. Surely there'd been more than a few guys who'd tried to make the moves on her.

But, she'd been steadfast, blushingly admitting that she'd shot down every approach. And then she'd come clean about her fear of putting so much trust in someone. Dean understood.

It took a lot of confidence to place your body in someone elses' hands and trust that they'd take care of you. Never mind your heart.

So, he'd kept all his feelings wadded up inside to make sure he never made her uncomfortable.

So when she pressed all up against his body and sighed against his mouth, Dean was more than surprised. He was downright awed. She was trusting him. With that thought in mind, if she wanted to take this farther, he'd damn well make sure that everything he did would be the best she'd ever have.

The dishes were left to dry by themselves as Dean hooked his arms around her hips and lifted her against his chest. Her fingers curled into the lapels of his shirt, material crumpling. Dean's room was the closer of the two, so it would have to do.

She spent just as much time there as she did in her own, anyway.

He kicked the door shut and fumbled with the lock. He stopped at the foot of the bed and let her body slide down his until her feet touched the floor. Their kiss broke apart as she gasped in a breath.

And, dammit, she had some of the best bedroom eyes he'd ever seen. Her lashes fluttered at half-mast, the brown irises shifting colors like melted chocolate with hints of caramel. Her hands tugged his flannel off his shoulders slowly. Then her lashes swept down as her teeth flashed against her lower lip. Her fingers hooked in the hem of his t-shirt before lifting that over his head, too.

Even in his jeans, Dean had never felt more exposed and raw than he did in that moment. She touched her fingertips to the skin of his stomach, making the muscles there contract. Her eyes flickered up before she flattened her palms there.

She'd quietly asked if that was okay, brows drawing up so a tiny crease formed between them.

Dean had stifled a laugh. It was more than okay. Her hands felt so damn good and she hadn't even gone below the belt, yet.

Then, her hands had skimmed up, up. Her fingers wandered, learning the textures of skin over muscle and what had him humming with pleasure. All the while, his own hands had been doing a little roaming of their own. Their lips never ceased moving.

Dean angled his head, licking against her tongue as he slipped one hand beneath the back of her t-shirt to trace the small of her back. She gasped into his mouth, fingers digging into his shoulders. Up, up, he dragged the fabric, until they had to separate so he could draw it off. Her bra was a simple affair; just black cotton with a hint of satin at the tops of the cups. A few freckles were dotted across her throat, shoulders, and chest. The plain material cupped her breasts beautifully. They'd be more than a perfect handful Dean thought to himself.

Her skin was pale with a pretty pink flush to the peach hue. Little flecks of old scars smattered her body. The newest were the ones from the werewolf hunt. There were four parallel lines that faintly raised the skin of her belly beside her navel. Her belly was soft, a little rounded.

He liked that she wasn't all hard planes and angles.

God, just looking at her there; head tipped up for his kisses, lips pinkened and eyes shut with pleasure, skin flushed, had him all up in knots. His jeans were too tight, the material of his boxers abruptly too coarse. But he knew that as soon as he had those off, he'd be on her and there would be no going slow. And he wanted to go slow with her. She deserved to be loved, worshipped. They could do hard and fast later...

Suddenly, a bold streak seemed to overcome her. She pushed and pulled at her own remaining clothing until all that was left were her bra and panties. Her fingers fumbled at the clasp of her bra as the sudden bravery faltered.

She bit at her lower lip, an action which had his gut knotting and desire punching low and hard. Dean bent for another kiss, groaning as she carefully nipped at his lower lip before sucking on it gently. His hands mapped out the smooth contours of her back before his fingertips grazed the clasp of her bra. He freed the metal pieces slowly. The straps slid from her shoulders and caught at her elbows, the cups clung to her breasts tenaciously.

One of her arms came up and looped over her chest as she shivered a little.

When he'd voiced that it was all right if she didn't want to continue, she'd shaken her head and given him that new look he'd come to crave. The one where her eyes seemed to glow with shy heat, making the brown near black except for the hints of gold.

She'd let the bra fall from her arms and with another shiver, slowly dropped her arm. Dean had been rendered speechless as heat boiled in his veins. He'd bent again, crushing his mouth to her's before he could temper himself. But she seemed to have no problem with the sudden forcefulness. She made a tiny sound and looped her arms around his neck. His hands slowly coasted up from her hips until he brushed the undersides of her breasts.

She jumped a little, arching slightly. Dean feathered his thumbs over her nipples languidly as he left her mouth to press open-mouthed kisses across her jaw and down her throat. When he flicked his thumbs faster, she gasped, head kicking back and fingers pulling at his hair.

Ooh. So she liked that?

He began to experiment, seeing which spots on her neck and shoulders were most sensitive as he tweaked and teased and kneaded her breasts. When he'd let his teeth graze the shell of her ear and nip at the lobe, she'd let out a low whimper and squirmed in his hands. The juncture where her throat joined her shoulder went much the same. Her head lolled back as she let out a sinful sound that had his hips jerking.

If those were the sounds she made when he was just touching her, then what would she sound like when they actually had sex? If they were any better than these, he'd be no more than a minute man for sure. And that thought was more embarrassing than anything, really.

Her fingers hooked in the belt loops of his jeans as she fumbled with his fly. Dean nearly groaned when her fingertips brushed over his cock through the denim. When she'd managed to work his belt and fly free, he kicked his pants down and off. One of his hands left her breast to travel low on her back. She gave him another one of those little gasps as he palmed her ass and drew her flush against him. Her fingers traced over his ribs and up his chest as she sighed against his mouth.

Step by step, Dean had her shuffling backward towards the bed. When the backs of her knees suddenly met the edge, she toppled back with a squeak. She bounced once before sitting up on her elbows as he crawled over her. He braced one hand beside her head and ran the other over her side; watching her shiver. He bent, swallowing her sigh as her fingers danced over the skin of his shoulders and arms.

Dean left her mouth and pressed open-mouthed kisses along the line of her throat. Down, down. He paid careful attention to the soft spot at her collar before continuing south. He nuzzled one breast as his free hand came up to cup the other. Her fingers had grown still on his skin. He let his breath ghost across the peak of her nipple, watching her lips part on a wordless gasp.

With those brown eyes locked on his, he dragged his tongue across her nipple once. She arched, teeth worrying at her lower lip. Dean suckled, palming her other breast and watching as her head kicked back and she let out a ragged moan.

God, she was so goddamned responsive; body practically squirming beneath his every touch, emitting faint moans and gasps and quiet sighs. But he wanted to hear the sounds she made when she was out-of-control, on the brink. No, he needed to hear those sounds. Dean switched his attention to her other breast and slid his hand down to trace the edges of her panties.

She mewled, practically grinding herself into his fingers. He pressed his thumb over the top of her sex and rubbed back and forth slowly. She made a startled, hot sound, legs falling open as she rocked her hips up. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his arms.

" _Dean, please_ ," she'd whimpered. Freaking _whimpered_.

He'd threaded her panties down her thighs and tossed them over his shoulder. She seemed suddenly overcome with shyness; legs clamping shut and curling upward as she blushed.

Dean returned to her mouth and kneaded her breasts. Slowly, her body came undone again. Her small fingers wrapped around one of his wrists as she guided his hand to the juncture of her thighs. He licked a hot stripe up the side of her throat as he cupped her sex in his palm. She let out another of those mewling noises as her thighs fell open again. Dean nearly swore.

She was already soaking, hot and wet and so damned tempting. And God, she'd felt so damn good when he'd slipped his finger into her.

But nothing had compared to being inside of her that first time. She'd been tight, hotter than a forge and so, so slick. She'd clamped around him perfectly when he kissed her as he'd let her get used to having him inside of her. Her hands had wandered over his arms and back, nails tracing red lines over his skin when he found her sweet spots. Her eyes fluttered open and closed; her head thrashed from side to side.

She'd chanted his name, voice breathy when she'd uttered the words; " _Gonna come. For..For you_."

And dammit, that'd nearly snapped his leash. He'd slipped his hand between their bodies and rubbed her clit. He leaned down for a kiss as his body surged over her's. Soon, she'd gasped loudly, fingers digging sharply into his back as her body rippled along his. She'd keened his name as she panted against his lips and he'd been helpless not to follow.

That night would be forever ingrained in his memories as one of the best nights ever...If not _the_ best.

Tangled together with limbs intertwined and sheets draped over them, they'd just lain there. She traced patterns across the skin of his chest and paid careful attention to the tattoo over his heart. Eventually, they'd both drifted off to sleep.

Dean had woken sometime the next morning to find her strewn half-over and half-off his chest. The sheet had ridden low during the night and only just draped over the curve of her ass. The ant-possession tattoo she had at the small of her back stood out starkly against her skin. Freckles dusted the tops of her shoulders and a few spattered across her spine.

One of her arms pillowed her cheek. Her lashes fanned down over the tops of her pink cheeks. Her lips were parted around her deep breaths. Dean had slowly rolled and slid back beside her.

He'd pressed kisses over her back and shoulders, rubbing his hands over the soft skin there. She shifted, eyelids fluttering. A strand of hair fell forward and stuck to her lips. He tucked it away and pressed a kiss to the tip of her ear.

She'd looked unbelievably, heart-breakingly beautiful.

And damn it, the words had been right there. Right on the tip of his tongue.

He pushed her hair over one shoulder and dragged his lips over the skin there. Between each kiss he feathered his hands over her sides. He wasn't good with words. Frankly, saying those three...well. It was a little scary and they just didn't seem like enough.

There was " _I'd die for you_ " and " _I'd do anything for you_ ".

But those...they weren't enough, either.

When Dean caught her ear lobe between his teeth and gently tugged, she let out a sleepy moan. A tiny grin lifted the corner of his mouth.

Yep. One of her spots for sure.

Her lashes fluttered and then he was stuck staring into warm brown. The borders of her irises were darker, almost black. There were flecks of hazel and gold there, too. He'd never admit it, but he liked just looking at her eyes; the way they flashed when she was angry or fighting, the way they crinkled at the corners when she smiled or laughed. The way they softened only for him in that moment.

One of her hands rose. Fingertips traced the edge of his jaw as her lips tipped up in a sweet smile.

And that one look had undid his thoughts.

" _You make this, all this, worth living through_."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean loved her.

There was no doubt about it.

He loved waking up to her in the morning. He loved feeling her tucked into his side or waking up wrapped around her.

He loved hunting with her.

Of course, he'd much rather she was safely away at the bunker, but when he'd brought that up, it'd led to their first fight. Holy hell, the woman was stubborn. She'd called him out and stood her ground. And when Dean had continued to steadfastly argue, she'd lapsed into silence. Silence that had lasted through the afternoon and into the evening.

He hated it. Hated the way she just curled up inside herself and withdrew from everything. She wandered around the bunker; cleaning and doing laundry. He hated the way her eyes stayed downcast and her brows furrowed with that little crease in the middle. But, God, he hated admitting that her points had been right.

She was one of the best hunters he'd ever known. She was cautious and quick and intelligent. She'd saved their asses more than a few times. Asking her to stop hunting was like asking her to cut off a limb. Hunting was just as much a part of her as it was for Dean.

So, that night, Dean had tentatively crept up beside her and brushed his fingers over her hair.

It was something she adored. Whenever he'd play with her hair or run his fingers through the strands after they'd fallen into bed, her eyes would get heavy-lidded. Dean swore that if she was able, she would have started purring.

She'd gone still at his touch and glanced up. Her eyes were wide and her brows quirked in a questioning way. Dean had offered her a small smile as he curled a piece of her hair around his finger. After a minute, she'd relaxed. Her eyes lost that hurt, dimmed look and warmed. She'd gone up on her toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

It was how almost every one of there fights went. Their spats were occasional and when they happened, Sam went out of his way to avoid whatever room the two of them were in. But she always forgave Dean. Granted, Dean was usually the one who was in error, but he'd never admit it.

A few months later, Dean and Sam had gotten called away on a hunt while she'd been needed at another.

Dean had sulked for the first day apart from her. He didn't like it at all. It was like missing a part of him. Like his balance was gone. He missed her quips and smile, her vast knowledge of lore and cleverness. He missed having her at his side.

Every night, they'd stay on the phone until the other had no choice but to hang up. More often than not, Sam grumbled at Dean to get off the phone and get some sleep. Her voice was higher on the phone; something Dean liked to tease her about. She sounded shy and girlish and not at all like the tough-as-nails hunter he knew she could be. But regardless of how the phone-lines made her sound, it was good to hear her voice in his ear.

The hunt seemed like it'd been the longest they'd ever been on. He and Sam had gotten back to the bunker a day before her.

It'd felt so big and empty without a third person. The bed they shared was too big suddenly. The kitchen was quiet during meals. Dean itched for her to be back at his side. He needed her, craved her.

So when the doors to the garage opened and she strode through, Dean practically jumped up from the library's chair in his haste to get to her.

She had had her pack slung over one shoulder. Her hair was up in a loose ponytail that swung with every step. There were light smudges beneath her eyes. Her clothes were dusty and smudged with dirt and what looked like oil. Dean had barreled into her, knocking the bag from her shoulder and arms wrapping around her. She'd gasped against his mouth when he kissed her like it'd been a year and not a few days.

She'd laughed, a low, pleased sound that had made Dean's insides do funny things. In between kisses, she'd complained of the need for a shower before things got out of hand.

That was a suggestion he could get behind.

Dean had thanked his rarely lucky stars that the water in the bunker always seemed to run hot. They'd slipped into the stall together, soap-slickened skin sliding beneath hands and lips. Her hair had darkened in the water, falling over her back and shoulders like a veil. He'd hitched her legs around his hips as her back met the wall.

Shower sex was goddamn complicated. But it was beyond worth it with her.

The way her skin had slid along his...The way the water had amplified every touch...The way every sound had been heightened by the steam and quiet...

Then again, sex with her was always like a religious experience.

Dean wanted to scoff at the term, but it was nothing if not true. She was everything she was out of the bedroom in it as well. She could be wild, insatiable, clever, curious. She could be soft, sweet, giving, loving. She could a mixture of all those things and more. Every time they hit the sheets was different and Dean loved every side.

He learned every one of her likes and dislikes. He learned what touches of his fingers made her sigh. He learned what light kisses and long licks made her gasp and moan. He learned what things made her chant his name.

It wasn't often that they were separated on hunts, but when they were apart for more than a few days, Dean went out of his way to show her just how much he had missed her.

God, he remembered the first time he'd gone down on her. Now that had been an experience he'd tucked away in his vault of favorite memories.

They'd been called to opposite sides of the country. Dean had been stuck in the woods hunting a wendigo for a week. The thing had been nasty, wily. And Dean had been less than pleased with the fact that he wasn't able to hear her voice via phone call because of the shit reception. He'd been pent up, mind and body roiling for days. As soon as the thing had been torched and he and Sam had found civilization again, Dean had called her. And damn it, her voice had both eased him and made him harder than anything.

The trip back to the bunker had taken two days. She'd arrived a full day before-hand. The thought of her there, waiting for him, in their bed all alone had Dean's mind fogging. His knuckles had been white on the steering wheel as he violated nearly every traffic law in an effort to get back quicker. Dean had pulled into the garage and settled Baby down. He hadn't bothered to stop and get his bag from the trunk.

No, he'd just gone on the hunt for her.

He needed to see her, feel her warmth and know that she was real and in one piece. He needed to hear her voice. He needed to feel her in his hands, needed to make her realize just how much he'd missed her.

Dean had found her in the library, ear-buds dangling from her ears and a pencil clenched between her teeth as she cradled a pad of paper braced over one forearm. From the look of intense concentration on her face, she was drawing.

That made Dean pause for approximately thirty seconds before he decided that she was more important than any drawing. He'd plucked the headphones from her ears and had her over his shoulder in the next heartbeat.

She'd squeaked in surprise and pinched his back. Dean ignored her light hits and playfully slapped one hand over her ass. She'd really squealed at that, wriggling on his shoulder and nearly made him think about ducking into the nearest room instead of their's.

But he'd made it to their room. As soon as he'd kicked the door shut, he'd popped her back to her feet.

He hadn't given her much of a chance to get her breath back before he was kissing her. His hands had pulled their clothes off just as fast as he was able to. Then, he moved them to the bed. There, he sprawled out over her; laving open-mouthed kisses over every bit of skin he could reach and teasing her with his hands. He'd nuzzled his way down her body before hooking her legs over his shoulders.

Her eyes were passion-hazed and her cheeks were pink. She'd blinked rapidly when she'd figured out his intentions.

At the first long, slow lick, her eyes had flown wide and her hands had twisted in the sheets. A gasping whisper of his name only served to spur him. Dean liked this sort of thing. He liked learning her with his mouth, feeling the way she rocked against his mouth, hearing the way she went from gasping to becoming a moaning mess.

Struck by a sinful thought, Dean had set in and began tracing patterns with his tongue.

First a straight line with a curve. She'd shuddered, knuckles whitening.

A series of four lines. She'd gasped, hips jerking.

Three lines, two angled.

His eyes flicked up to meet her's. The brown was darkened by her pupils. Her lower lip was tucked between her teeth as her head tossed once.

He held her gaze and completed the last pattern. Three lines in a zig-zag.

Then, he repeated the patterns again, and again. He never looked away from her eyes, watched them as they flew wide.

One last tracing of the letters of his name had them sliding shut.

Her hands flew up and her fingers tangled in his hair. Her nails scratched at his scalp as her hips bucked. Dean lapped at her through her orgasm, not pulling away until her cries had turned to ragged gasps and she was trembling beneath him.

And then, she'd pulled him up for a kiss. Somehow, he'd ended up lying back on the sheets as she dragged her fingertips and tongue low on his body.

Passion-hazed and still reliving the sound of his name on her lips, it had taken him more than a few moments to finally put together just watch she was working on. Dean had been quick to assure her that she didn't need to reciprocate. It wasn't that he didn't want her to, _God_ , he wanted her to, so bad. But he didn't want her to feel like she had to.

And she'd looked up at him with those heavy-lidded brown eyes all hot and glowing. Her hair had tickled across the skin of his hips and thighs when she shook her head. She wanted to, she'd said. And then, with a blush and a flutter of her lashes, she'd admitted that she had fantasized about it.

And damn if that didn't have Dean already on edge.

The mere thought of her thinking about, dreaming about going down on him had his skin tingling and his brain blanking. But even better than the thought, the fantasies, had been the reality.

She was unpracticed, that much Dean had known. Or...He'd thought she was. 'Cause she seemed to have a pretty good idea of just what spots made his hips jerk, made his thighs clench and had him fisting the sheets so hard they nearly ripped.

Dean had gently pulled her back when he got too close. Of course, she'd made an almost disappointed noise and set right back where she'd been.

He'd tried to find the words to tell her that he was close, so, so close but all he could do was tangle his fingers in her hair and arch his back. He tried to keep his hips still, gritted his teeth until she found a particularly sensitive spot that had his head kicking back. He'd groaned, loud and low and long as he shuddered.

Oh yeah, that night had joined the other memories in Dean's happy vault.


	3. Chapter 3

Days off from hunts were some of Dean's favorites now.

He used to hate the inactivity, the boredom of lounging around without a job or action. But on the days when all seemed quiet after a trip across the country, he'd taken to staying in bed late with her.

Wrapped in blankets, sheets, and each other, they'd doze between bouts of lazy kisses and feather-light touches.

Dean liked to nuzzle her hair and neck and run his hands from the dip of her spine to her neck and back. She seemed to enjoy tracing patterns over the skin of his shoulders and chest; connecting old scars and freckles in random designs. It was just them and the sound of their breath and the occasional whisper.

There, in their room, wrapped up in one another, they were safe and untouchable. Nothing bad would ever happen there.

Eventually, though, they'd have to face the day regardless of a hunt or not.

Dean liked watching her dress. Of course, he liked it more when her clothes went off instead of on, but he loved her anyway he could get her.

Off days meant she'd wear a pair of frayed jeans and one of his old flannels. The sleeves would pool over her hands if she didn't roll them up; something that only increased how adorable she was.

Sometimes they'd cook in the kitchen together. More often than not, Dean would work on baby while she watched and he taught her the in's and out's of the car's interior. Or they'd brush up on lore in the library or crash on the couch while watching movies.

On hunts, Dean was convinced that there was no better team than the three of them.

Sam was a strategist and a people-person. The kid could worm secrets out of anyone he had set his mind on. Dean knew every trap, fighting style, and weapon. He was the main brawn besides Sammy. And then she was the lore expert; her knowledge vastly outweighed even Sam's in that department. The girl had read nearly every book in the bunker's library. Any creature, myth, monster, god...Whatever, she knew at least something about. And she was a godsend when it came to needing precision traps for demons and other nasty things.

Still, Dean disliked the danger hunts presented to her. He knew that she was one of the best. He knew she could take care of herself in nearly any situation. But mistakes always happened. And in their life, mistakes could mean the difference between life and death. Dean tuned himself to her on hunts; never wandering more than five steps away. He could make it back across that distance in a heartbeat if the situation arose. Their movements nearly mirrored one another.

She was always at his side; eyes dark and flashing with that predatory gleam she got when hunting. She could be downright scary sometimes. He'd seen her take on a raging werewolf with cool calm. He'd watched her take out two vamps at once; machetes in both hands as she spun in a deadly circle.

Inevitably, they'd come back with a few dings and scratches. Sometimes things needed stitches and heavy bandages, but for the most part, they were little scratches and nicks and bruises.

Dean hated that he wasn't able to keep the two of them safe from harm all the time. He would go down bleeding and gutted and with a smile if that meant she and Sam were untouched. Every time he had to patch one of them up, his mind endlessly looped the situation in which they'd gotten hurt. If he'd moved left instead of right...If he'd shot first instead of questioning...

There could've been a worse wound, there could've been a hell of a lot more blood. One of them might not have made it home.

Those were the nights when he held her a little closer to his chest and tried to ignore the shaking in his hands when he tucked her hair behind her ear.

Dean loved her.

He loved every minute he got to spend with her; whether it was hunting, researching, working on Baby, or just lounging around.

He loved kissing her.

She would loop her arms around his neck and card her fingers through his hair. She had to stand on her toes to meet him half-way. Then, she'd slowly sink back down, making Dean follow her for more. He liked to tease her; barely brushing his lips across her's and having her lean after him. He took his time when he could. Her lips were soft and plump and always tasted faintly of vanilla.

Behind it all, everything Dean felt for her, fear loomed.

He was afraid that something would go horribly wrong during a hunt.

He was afraid that one mistake of his would lead to her getting irreparably harmed.

He was afraid that one day, she'd realize that he wasn't good enough for her.

He was afraid that one day, she'd see it and decide to leave. Everyone left Dean eventually.

But, God, at the thought of losing her, his mind shut down with the sort of pain he'd only experienced a few times after losing Sammy. He didn't want to lose her, too. But if she did leave, he wouldn't stop her. She did deserve better and he wouldn't ever deny her that.

For then, though, she was his. And Dean felt like the luckiest man on earth.

Sometimes, just to reassure himself that she was really there, really at his side still; he'd brush his fingers against her's. She'd blink up at him and offer him a gentle smile as her fingers twined with his.

One day, after a hunt in Connecticut, Dean had been working on the Impala with her sat beside him on the cement floor.

The knees of her jeans were dusty and her palms were darkened with oil and dust. Her flannel was tied around her waist and her hair was anchored in a high ponytail that swished around her ears. Dean leaned over Baby's engine as he quizzed her about the parts and had her hand him tools.

While pointing at one of the parts, she'd made some cheesy car-related pun. Dean had laughed, face aching from how wide he smiled.

Her eyes shone and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. There'd been a streak of dark oil near her nose. Loose locks of hair from her bangs hung over one brow and brushed the top of her cheek. She looked beautiful.

And all he could think about was just how much his chest felt full with love.

"I love you."

The words had slipped out before Dean realized his mouth was moving. He stilled, face heating and stomach dropping.

It was too late to pull the words back in. And then, she'd launched herself at him. Her arms had wound around his neck as she pressed her lips to the corner of his. She'd laughed. A light, happy sound that had him smiling even wider.

And then she'd whispered the words right back with a blush that rivalled his.


	4. Chapter 4

After that, it was almost stupidly easy to say the words.

Dean whispered them into her ear as she slept curled into his chest. He muttered them while they kissed. He gasped them while they moved together in bed. He murmured them to her before and after every hunt.

Dean had never gotten this far with anyone before.

Every sort of relationship he'd ever had never got to this sort of stage. They always ended up with him leaving or them leaving or dying. Nothing except what he felt for Sam and Cas had ever been this _strong_.

The holidays were approaching and Dean had never been super into them before.

He'd really tried when Sam was a kid. Kids needed that type of stuff. And there'd only been that one time they'd tried to celebrate as adults. It hadn't been bad, actually, but it was a far cry from any Hallmark moment.

This was the first time in...God knew how long, since he was a kid that they actually had a place to call their's. They were all together for once. There was no heavenly holy war, no monsters breathing down their necks, no ax hanging over their heads. For once, it actually seemed like they would get to have a good Christmas.

Thanksgiving had been spent in Oregon on a hunt. They'd all been way too tuckered out to even contemplate doing anything when they arrived back at the bunker.

Dean really wanted to make this holiday special for her.

Who knew when things could go south again? They were hunters, after all. Their lives were fraught with death and uncertainty.

So Dean was gonna do his damnedest to make this Christmas one for the record books.

The Men of Letters had shit stored all around the place, he didn't see why they wouldn't have holiday stuff somewhere.

Sure enough, when he spent one afternoon hunting through a storage closet, he hit the jackpot. In boxes painstakingly labelled with loopy writing, he found bundles of old calico swaddled around glass ornaments, garlands, and all sorts of old-fashioned holiday goodies.

It hadn't snowed yet, and Dean was grateful for that when he dragged Cas with him to find a Christmas tree.

Cas, of course, pestered him with all sorts of questions about the ' _why_ 's of holiday traditions. Dean didn't really mind. It was kinda nice getting to explain things to the angel for once instead of the other way around.

The tree he selected was just a little taller than Sam was. It only took a few good whacks with an axe to get the thing on the ground and then Cas poofed it back to the bunker. That was certainly a hell of a lot easier than dragging it the handful of miles he and Cas had walked through the woods on their search. Dean had sent his brother and her on a long errand run just for this purpose alone. He wanted to surprise her.

There was no way he'd do everything. Half of the fun was going to be decorating with her.

Between Cas' muscle power and Dean's ingenuity, they got the tree set up in the library in a stand. The thing looked pretty great if Dean said so, himself. And it'd look even better decorated.

Shit, he was all sorts of domesticated, wasn't he.

This was for her, though. And Dean would do just about anything for her.

He'd just managed to get the laptop playing an online station of holiday songs when the doors to the garage opened. Sam's heavier footsteps sounded alongside the lighter patter of her's. Her arms were filled with bags and a few stray wisps of hair stuck to her lips. Her cheeks were pink from cold.

She made a tiny, surprised gasping noise when she spotted the tree and heard the music. Her brown eyes lit up.

Dean's insides flipped when she dumped the bags on the library tables and flung herself at him. He couldn't help but grin into her hair as she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Over the top of her head, he shot Sam a glance. The kid looked pretty excited, though he was valiantly trying to hide it.

Once the bags and their contents were put away, she was immediately into the boxes of decorations. She ' _ooh'_ ed and ' _ah'_ ed over the vintage stuff.

Cas carefully examined a glass bauble as though it was the Ark of the Covenant when she handed it to him and began reciting facts about the popularity of Christmas in the Victorian era.

Where'd she'd picked up the knowledge, Dean had no clue. But he loved hearing her get all excited about sharing her knowledge.

She and Cas had really struck up quite the comradery. The two of them often discussed such rousing topics as politics, theology, and the progression of history.

Dean had to admit, though, some topics weren't half bad. The other day, he'd walked in on Cas detailing dinosaurs to her. She'd been rapt, leaning forward and hanging on his every word. Dinosaurs were cool, Dean could get behind that. It just kinda made him feel bad and out-of-his league when she and Cas started talking the big stuff. Sometimes Sam got involved, too.

Dean's areas of expertise were lore and cars and pop culture. Sure, he knew a fair bit about the Bible and stuff. He knew a little about a lot, but he'd never really had much a chance to learn half the stuff those three did. And it made him feel out-of-place.

She was totally out of his league. She was everything Dean wasn't.

She was smart and sweet, able to recite nearly everything she'd ever read and come up with answers to any problem in the blink of an eye. She was quiet and an artist, Dean was a little bit of a neat-freak, sure, but he was messy outside of the bunker. She was just...She was everything he wasn't.

Dean constantly found himself in awe when she said those words to him.

Cas had picked up a few boxes of Christmas lights from a local store per Dean's earlier request. She'd gone and, in the process of unwinding them, gotten them tangled around Sam. And then she'd plugged them in. Even Cas had laughed at that.

It was nice. They were like their own little family in that moment. Untouchable and safe and whole.

She bounced around the tree, hanging ornaments after the lights had been strung. Dean smothered a laugh when she tried to reach the higher branches. Even on her tip-toes, she barely came to his chin. She made a valiant effort, though.

Sam ruffled her hair playfully and offered to get her a stool. She swatted his arm and threatened to wrap him in lights again.

Then came time for the finishing touch.

The topper was a crystalline star Dean had found in the bottom of one of the boxes. The thing had been wrapped in so many layers of tissue and clothe that he'd almost thought it was just a wad of calico.

Dean lifted her into his arms and boosted her up just enough so that she was able to place the star atop the tree. He lowered her back to the floor, leaning in for a gentle kiss despite Sam's childish noise of disgust.

She quickly drafted Dean into helping her decorate the rest of the bunker while Sam and Cas beat a hasty retreat to do some 'research' in the storerooms.

In the midst of hanging garland over the balcony and rails, Dean found what he'd been hoping for.

When she turned to ask for the last bit of ribbon to secure the end of the garland, she collided with his chest.

Dean lifted his bounty over their heads, giving her a sly grin.

The green leaves were faded with age, the white berries still smelled like pine and winter, though. She laughed, pink coloring her cheeks again.

And beneath the mistletoe, they'd had their first Christmas kiss.

 

Apparently, she was a baking whiz, too, Dean came to find out.

The day before Christmas, he woke up to an empty bed. It was something that made him frown.

He'd wanted to lounge around and maybe kiss her silly before Sam interrupted them.

Dean was forced to abandon their warm bed and hunt her down. He found her in the kitchen, iPod playing more-recent covers of traditional Christmas carols. She was swaying along with the music. Her hair was up in a high ponytail, one of his flannel shirts rolled up to her elbows as she cracked eggs into a mixing bowl.

Dean eased up behind her before he slid his arms around her middle and rested his forehead against her shoulder. She smelled like vanilla and cinnamon and faintly of the soap she liked to use. Her hair tickled his ear when she turned her head a little.

Dean decided this whole thing wasn't so bad when she began stirring whatever the hell she was making. The motions of her body did interesting things against his that did not do anything to assuage his morning hard-on.

He peppered kisses along her neck and shoulder where his shirt bagged on her. When Dean's hands started wandering enough to really distract her, she finally turned and swatted his hip with the dish towel playfully.

Her eyes sparkled as she laughed; faint creases forming around the corners of her eyes. He couldn't help but lean in and kiss her. After a minute, he left to shower and dress before he returned in record time.

She was spooning batter into a pan, lip caught bet ween her teeth as she concentrated. Dean sidled up behind her again, catching the bottom of her ear in his teeth.

The action rendered her a nearly nerveless bundle of happy noises instantly. When Dean pulled away to grin smugly at her, she retaliated by swiping her finger through the batter remaining in the bowl and swiping it over his mouth. Then, she went up on her toes and gently sucked his lower lip into her mouth. Dean nearly came out of his skin between the sweet taste of the brownie batter and her mouth.

Dean pressed her up against the counter, chasing the taste of her as she giggled. Until he deepened the kiss and palmed her hips, that was. Then, she went all but boneless; arms linking behind his neck.

The timer went off and Dean mentally high-fived himself when she was too distracted to pay it any mind.

He retrieved the baking trays from the oven and turned around just in time to catch her staring at his ass. Her eyes had that sultry, golden glow to them as she dragged her gaze back up. Then, she'd sauntered over and twisted the timer's dial to twenty minutes. One pointed look was all it took for Dean to accept her challenge.

 

That afternoon, they ventured into town.

Dean wanted to actually have things for Sam and her for once. They both deserved the world and while he couldn't help with that, he could sure get them both something. Cas was another matter entirely. What did you get an angel of the lord for Christmas? It wasn't like he ate or slept or did anything definitively human.

Dean was at a loss. Of course, he could probably just ask her. She knew what Cas liked...Maybe she'd give him an idea.

By the time they'd left town, the sky was dark and the stars were out.

Cas had parked himself in the backseat of the Impala with her.

The two of them were chattering over the stars and constellations. Cas knew them all like the back of his hand apparently, and had actually watched nebulae being built. She was rapt, hanging on his every word again. Her eyes shone whenever Dean glanced back in the mirror.

When they got back to the bunker, the four of them went their separate ways. All except for she and Cas. The two of them scampered off, her hand tucked around Cas' elbow as he frowned down at her. Dean stifled a laugh when he caught a part of their conversation. The importance of wrapping gifts was lost on the angel. Why hide something in paper when it was a waste of the material? She patiently explained that it wasn't about ' _hiding'_ , necessarily, but about the surprise of gift-giving.

Dean spent the next hour in their room, legs sprawled out in front of himself as he fought with a roll of scotch tape and leaves of newspaper. He actually wasn't half-bad at wrapping. Of course, everything would be a hell of a lot easier if the goddamn tape didn't stick to itself so much.

He'd just finished when a soft knock sounded at the door. He jolted up, shoving the wrapped gifts underneath the desk and tossing bits of newspaper and tape into the trash. When he was satisfied that everything was taken care of, he opened the door a little bit.

She looked tired, circles beneath her eyes and a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her hair had come loose from the confines of its braid at some point and now waved around her shoulders loosely. Dean leaned his hip against the door-frame and raised a brow.

"There's a fee for entry, you know."

She'd blinked, confusion rendering her downright adorable. When Dean leaned through the small crack in the door and pressed his lips to her's she sighed. The kiss was slow and sweet.

Dean tugged her into the room without any further ado.


End file.
